


tell the world that i'm coming home

by astarisms



Series: paper trails [2]
Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Spoilers for Book 3: The Empire of Gold, but i already had it and it makes me soft, more in the notes but i felt it were too spoilery to put in the tags, my baby girl is home, so here it can make yall soft too, soft, this is going to be after part 1 of paper trails (whenever that may be written)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astarisms/pseuds/astarisms
Summary: he brings her back.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin/Nahri e-Nahid
Series: paper trails [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897015
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	tell the world that i'm coming home

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't like the implications that Nahri was stuck in Daevabad forever when she never really got closure with Cairo, but I do know that Shan gave the in-text loophole of Nahids being able to pass the ring between them. Jamshid's keeping it safe for now :)

Nahri had never imagined returning, not since the realization had settled that as the bearer of Suleiman’s seal, she was bound to Daevabad. It had been a bitter moment, that, what with her realizing she could never leave and that the man she loved could never return.

It had felt like losing both a third time apiece.

Which is why it feels so surreal now, to be staring out across the Cairene landscape, the towering minarets and distant pyramids and the windswept, sandy streets. It  _ aches _ to be back after so long, and she fears if she looks away it will be gone once again. 

Then there’s a heat at her back that is closer and more intimate than that of the sun, and Dara’s hand brushes hers. 

“Welcome home, Banu Nahida,” he says with a smile in his voice, and Nahri feels awfully close to breaking in a way she hasn’t in decades. His words land like a blow, despite the innocuity of them. 

_ Home.  _ She is  _ home. _

She had carved out a life for herself in Daevabad the same way she had in Cairo, she had friends and family and a purpose there that were beyond anything she could have ever dreamed up for herself, things she could never give up—but the fact remained that it was Egypt that ran in her blood, that it was these streets that had made her the resilient survivalist that upheaved centuries of corruption to set a beautiful, broken magical city on the path to healing.

The same ones had made her the quick witted conwoman who saved the man she had vowed to kill. 

Dara is quiet by her side, offering her the same silent support she’d first given him when they’d first crossed the veil. She remembered watching his entire demeanor change, the way he’d lit up, the realization that he had been  _ home _ . A home he hadn’t seen in centuries.

How strange, to have their roles reversed now. While her time away has not been quite so dramatic, she appreciates his presence beside her as she takes it all in again. She turns her palm, reaching out to take his hand, and he squeezes gently. It gives her the kick she needs, to stop gawking from afar at a city that was both familiar and strange and instead  _ return _ to it properly.

Returning after six years had been nothing short of jarring, and though her heart beats a painful rhythm in her chest at the thought of all that had been changed—or _ lost _ —after nearly another twenty, she forces herself to take a step into the city.

And immediately, her anxiety fades at the bustle of the crowds, the noise she had tuned out, the smell of spice and fresh bread. 

Cairo is still  _ Cairo.  _ The tension drains out of her in relief, and she feels a little silly. Hadn’t she just been thinking of how the city itself had formed her into the resilient woman she is, who always gets back up and plows ahead? Through years of occupation and war and reoccupation, really, who had she been trying to fool with her misplaced fears?

“Do you remember,” Dara starts conversationally at her side, not bothering to raise his voice above the din, “the last time we were together in Cairo?”

Nahri’s reply comes in the form of an entirely unrefined snort, and she lets herself look at him for the first time since they landed. There’s another smile playing on the edge of his lips, and her stomach gives a not-unfamiliar little flutter.

May the Creator strike him down, and for good this time, this infuriating man who still has the same effect on her now that he did two and a half decades ago. She would not have thought it possible, after everything, but she had been thoroughly proven wrong in that clearing by the veil that day.

She had thought that maybe, this time, with closure, she might move on from him, but she learned that was not apparently in the cards for her either, when his first letter had been found in the cave with the vessels. 

Their years of correspondence had only served to strengthen the feelings she had once thought close to fading, and when she looks at him now—the teasing, smiling warrior with mirth dancing in his eyes that she’d once fallen in love with—she feels herself fall a little harder, all over again.

She arches an eyebrow at his question.

“Do I remember...” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin in exaggerated thought. “What, exactly, are you referring to? A terrifying man armed to the teeth appearing out of thin air and immediately making threats on my life? Being chased through a cemetery by ghouls? Learning everything I’d ever known was a lie?”

Dara has the decency to look a little abashed, though his smile doesn’t waver.

“Ah, yes. Forgive me for bringing up unsavory memories. I was simply thinking that it is nice to see the city under more…favorable circumstances.”

Nahri inclines her head in confusion, her eyes finding him again where they’d begun to drift, scouring the stalls for lunch.

“I was under the impression your last visits were quite favorable,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. “At least, that’s what your letters implied.”

“They were,” he assures her quickly, raising his free hand. “But of course, I was not in the company of a local who knew all the best spots then.” 

Nahri pauses, and then his words settle over her. There’s a pleased flush creeping across her skin she can’t quite help, that he should seek her outdated recommendations, that he should want to see her city with her, through her eyes, despite having explored it himself already, several times over.

He’s watching her expectantly, and she grins, old mischief stealing into her expression. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I hope you’re hungry, Afshin. I distinctly remember a young baker who had a bad habit of turning away from his goods. Do you want to wager on whether or not he’s shaken it over the years?”

Her heart twists in her chest at the fond exasperation that softens the sharp lines of his face, that crease the corners of his eyes, recalling the anxious, irritated daeva that had hovered with increasing worry the first time she’d stolen in his company. 

Oh, how far they had come.

“I’m not so much a fool to wager against you, little thief,” he says, and her grin widens.

“Oh, good. You’re learning.” She adjusts her hand in his, threading their fingers so she can lead him through the crowd. She feels the hum of the city flow through her, and it’s almost like she’s 20 again, maneuvering through the streets with an ease and stealth she hasn’t needed for survival purposes in a long time. 

And with his hand in hers, weaving through her city, she finally feels it, more real and tangible than it had been the first time outside the gates.

_ I am home. _


End file.
